


any ol’ barstool

by toastweasel



Series: The Gallaro Equation [5]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Alcoholism, Anxiety, Cancer, Cheating, Death, Depression, F/F, Homophobia, Police Violence, Smoking, Suicide, a bad break up, and so much goddamn angst., im so sorry this is the one story that wont have a happy ending., trigger warnings for
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-01
Updated: 2018-04-01
Packaged: 2019-04-17 01:28:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14177604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toastweasel/pseuds/toastweasel
Summary: Once upon a time, in a Boston far, far away, Rebecca Gallaro thought that Al Martínez was going to be the butch she spent the rest of her life with. Two moths, draw to the same sarcastic, bitter, caustic flame, driven together to survive against the harsh realities of homophobia and police violence that came with being gay in 1970. Their relationship had been a powder keg, just waiting for a spark to light it.Nearly thirty-five years after their explosive break up, freshly married to her wife and struggling to keep her personal and professional life separate, Rebecca must come to terms with Al's death and all the things she left unsaid.





	any ol’ barstool

**Author's Note:**

> I'm posting this prologue because there is a bit in the Corin + Holtz Snapshots that won't make sense if I don't publish this first. I'll be finishing Jack and Andrea first, before I finish this, but...uh....you've been warned. There's angst on the horizon.

**[September 2006]**

It doesn’t seem real. 

It’s a beautiful September day. The sun is shining, not a cloud in the sky. The ride had been absolutely perfect, no complications, just the roar of motorcycles along Route Two. It is fitting, to have such a great ride in memorium of one of the Dykes founding members; she would have loved it.

Rebecca Gallaro feels Al’s missing presence like a hole in her heart.

It’s been almost two months since she died. Forty or so women crowd around the railing at the scenic Adams Overlook. Al’s ashes are clutched carefully in Max’s hands. Somehow, for some damn reason, it’s her that’s speaking.

It makes sense; she’s a pastor, she’s on the board, she runs support groups, she’s used to doing this sort of thing. But God Rebecca wants to kill her, still. She’s the reason they are here in the first place.

“We’re all here to remember a great woman,” Max says, and her voice breaks for a moment. Rebecca looks away as Max composes herself. “I don’t think there’s a single person here Al didn’t touch in some way. I speak from personal experience when I say that despite all of her struggles, Al was probably the kindest person I’ve ever known. She was always willing to help out, be it with bikes, or moving, or clean up, or cooking… we all know Jack’s grill wasn’t really _Jack’s_ grill.”

A ripple of laughter passes through the assembled women. Jack’s smile wavers, and she squeezes her wife closer to her. Andrea presses a gentle kiss to her shoulder.

“Al fought many battles in her life,” Max continues, “most of them silent. She fought addiction and depression, and as we all found out, cancer. She was strong, so damn strong, and maybe a bit stubborn, too.” More laughter. “She chose to die with her dignity intact. She didn’t want any of us to see her wasting away.”

Max shifts the can of ashes in her hands and pulls out a folded piece of paper from her back pocket. “This is…she wrote a letter, left it for us, because she knew we would have a ride for her. I thought, since we are here in her favorite place in Mass to honor her, it would be as good a time as any. Jack, would you…?”

Jack nods, takes the paper, and unfolds it. She scans over it and takes a deep, shuddering breath. “Kay…here we go.

_“Folks;_

_I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my life. There are a lot of decisions I’ve made that I’m not proud of, and so many mistakes I regret. However, there is not for a second a moment that I’ve regretted my time in the Dykes on Bikes._

_From the second Jack and Connie approached me about starting this little group, we have forged a family stronger than anything connected by blood. We’re connected by our queerness and the love we have for the wind in our hair. I never thought I’d be part of a family like this—but I am grateful for the time we’ve spent together, out on the roads and in each other’s homes._

_Safe riding out there,_

_Al”_

Rebecca can feel a tightness in her throat and she looks towards the sky as if that will prevent the tears from coming; she won’t cry, for fucks sake, she has done enough crying around Al’s passing than she should have. Connie shifts beside her and drags an arm across her face to dry her tears. The rest of the assembled crowd is no better; Jamie’s face is tucked into Erika’s shoulder, and tears are streaming freely down Jessie’s face.

“She loved all of you so goddamn much,” Max says thickly. “We were her family when she didn’t have any. We helped her through all her shit, and she helped us through ours. She wouldn’t want us to be upset she’s gone. She’d want us to be happy and enjoy the ride, because that is what she would have done.”

Rebecca can’t help the smile that tugs on her lips; that _is_ what Al would have wanted. She would have told them all off for crying, and revved her engine loudly to distract from the noise of their snuffling.

“Before we release her ashes, I just want…everyone to take a moment, Close your eyes and think about your favorite memory of Al, or memories if there is more than one. We can share, if you want, let her know how much we love her. And then…then we’ll let her go.”

Nods all around, sounds of people sniffing and shifting to dry tears, coughing past the phlegm in their throats. Connie’s arm wraps around Rebecca’s waist.

The wind blows for a second, ruffling their helmet-tossed hair and scattering bits of leaves across the overlook. Rebecca’s not one for sentiment, but she closes her eyes anyway.

She remembers.

**Author's Note:**

> I've been hinting at this story for a while. Al's story is brought to you by my thesis, when an interviewee told me that the hard, tough butch women who existed in the back of her bars in the 80s and 90s didn't live very long "because they all had problems. Alcoholism, cancer...most of them smoked like chimneys or drank like fish. It was sad. I don't think a lot of them made it to 2000. They had a long, hard life, being gay in the 60s and 70s and it took its toll."
> 
> It reminded me inexplicably of Al. I wanted, desperately, to give Al her happy ending. I tried so hard, but none of the solutions I came up with felt 'right.' And then I realized--it isn't always 'right.' Sometimes it is wrong. When I heard that woman tell me that story, I knew that Al's fate was like theirs. I knew that she died as the result of a life fraught by homophobia, poor coping mechanisms, and a lack of access to health care.
> 
> It's a story that is not often told. We ignore the rampant alcohol and substance abuse in our community. Many of our community does not have access to health care. Many of our community die in isolation, too proud to ask for help despite a large community willing and able to do so.
> 
> I'll be coming back to this story line. I hope you trust me enough to know that I'll do my best to tell it sensitively. This is not a senseless killing but rather a cautionary tale of what happens if we go back to a time of stigmatization and fear. Sometimes our history is sad, and hard to come to terms with. Sometimes it kills.


End file.
